‘Really?’ Byron sounded curious. He reached out, his fingers brushing under the girl’s chin, tilting it up so that she was forced to meet his eyes.

She shrank back, terrified of the new horrors that were about to be visited on her. Byron’s appearance certainly lived up to the hype. His hair, so golden in colour that it mimicked burnished bronze, fell artfully across his forehead. His skin was tanned, without a blemish, and his eyes glittered emerald green. He towered over her, a tiny furrow on his forehead as he took in her appearance.

‘She’s a filthy thing,’ Tipsania dismissed. ‘I don’t know why you’d want to bother with her. Look at what she did to my dress! She’s going to pay for that.’

Byron’s expression turned stony, flecks of frozen ice reflected in his brilliant irises. He flicked a glance at the older girl then back again. ‘You’re right,’ he said finally, ‘she is pathetic. If I were you I wouldn’t even speak to her.’ Without another word, he withdrew his hand and bowed in Tipsania’s direction. ‘My lady,’ he murmured. Then he strode off.

Both girls watched him go. When he was out of earshot, Tipsania turned to the girl again. ‘You’re lucky he didn’t want more from you,’ she hissed.

The girl with no name dropped her head again. Her stomach felt tight and uncomfortable. She clenched her fists and dropped her shoulders. Please, she thought, just leave me alone. I’m nobody.

Her submissive posture seemed to do the trick; Tipsania sniffed loudly and stomped off, no doubt to find another example of gold-edged finery with which to impress the Sidhe princeling.

The girl with no name waited, counting to twenty in her head to ensure Tipsania was not about to return and cause more grief. It would make her eventual appearance in the grand hall even more delayed and she risked the Bull’s anger increasing. She was already late by now, however. One minute or ten – either way she’d get her ears boxed for her troubles. Not from the Bull, of course. He never touched her himself.

Trembling from her encounter, she took several short, rapid breaths. Byron Moncrieffe’s supercilious attitude, combined with Tipsania’s venom, swirled around her head. When she was older, she decided furiously, she’d make both of them pay. She sniffed to herself.

She dusted down her apron and set off once more, her mind working feverishly as to why she’d been summoned and just what the Bull could possibly want with her. A door at the far end opened and bright sunlight spilled in. There was a shout and the guard, who’d been standing there silhouetted against the sun, turned to answer the call, leaving the gateway open.